yet it is long since the Saganaw and the red skin have
spoken to each other, except through the war whoop. My
father must wonder to see the great chief of the Ottawas
without the hatchet in his hand."

"The hatchet often wounds those who use it unskilfully,"
calmly returned the governor. "The Saganaw is not blind.
The Ottawas, and the other tribes, find the war paint
heavy on their skins. They see that my young men are not
to be conquered, and they have sent the great head of
all the nations to sue for peace."

In spite of the habitual reserve and self-possession of
his race, the haughty warrior could not repress a movement
of impatience at the bold and taunting language of his
enemy, and for a moment there was a fire in his eye that
told how willingly he would have washed away the insult
in his blood. The same low guttural exclamations that
had previously escaped their lips, marked the sense
entertained of the remark by his companions.

"My father is right," pursued the chief, resuming his
self-command; "the Ottawas, and the other tribes, ask
for peace, but not because they are afraid of war. When
they strike the hatchet into the war post, they leave it
there until their enemies ask them to take it out."

"Why come they now, then, to ask for peace?" was the cool
demand.